A Ridiculous Term
by jamesandlilypotter81
Summary: Lily has an issue with a certain phrase, and she feels honor-bound to uncover the lies surrounding the person to whom it's most often attributed: James Potter. Because we all know there's no such thing as a 'Quidditch-toned body.'


A Ridiculous Term

The term 'Quidditch-toned body' made absolutely no sense to her.

She heard it everywhere—in the library, the girls' restroom, as she passed by the dormitories of her Housemates—and it was beginning to grate on her nerves. She wasn't sure how it was even _possible_ to have a 'Quidditch-toned body.' After all, Quidditch was a sport that consisted of flying on a broomstick as a ball was thrown around. What sort of workout was flying on a broomstick?

Frankly, the term was ridiculous.

Of course, it hadn't always been so abhorrent to her. Honestly, she hadn't really cared about the usage of 'Quidditch-toned body' because it was just something the silly younger girls would giggle about. They also enjoyed giggling over the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_, and that sort of thing had never amused Lily. But when she heard the silly sixth year Gryffindor, Lucy Feiffer, saying that James Potter had a 'Quidditch-toned body' as she was eating breakfast in the Great Hall, she had begun to hate the term. She began to hate it _ardently_.

She didn't really know why it had upset her. It wasn't as if she had anything against him anymore; She and James Potter had only spoken to one another when strictly necessary for Head business. He hadn't asked her out, hadn't teased her, hadn't come up behind her and said, "Summer's been kind to you, Evans," with a lewd wink. He had merely congratulated her on becoming Head Girl and had then offered to take care of rounds for the first month.

It didn't make sense for her to be so angry about the stupid 'Quidditch-toned body' comments. She'd heard it for six years, and, frankly, she doubted she'd ever be free of the stupid term. So why did it bother her now? Why did she literally grit her teeth whenever Feiffer would sit next to Potter at dinner and touch his upper arm, and with a smirk, say, "_Thank goodness_ for Quidditch?"

When she had mentioned her dilemma to Remus, he had snorted, raised his eyebrows and looked at her disbelievingly—as if he was torn between laughing at her and shaking her. Mary, her supposed best friend, had looked at her for a whole minute before bursting into laughter, actual tears of mirth running down her cheeks.

Lily had told them both that they were useless before stalking off and hiding out in the Restricted Section of the library—where she knew she'd be left alone to think, to analyze why the term 'Quidditch-toned body' made her so _angry_.

After nearly an hour, she figured it out.

She _knew_, without a doubt, that there was no such thing as a Quidditch-toned body. There just wasn't. She knew plenty of others who played Quidditch, and not all of them had defined muscles—in fact, most of them _didn't_ have defined muscles. They were perfectly normal teenage witches and wizards.

It upset her to hear that Potter had a 'Quidditch-toned body' because it was clear that he was lying—lying about how he had attained his supposedly 'fit' body. And Lily, because she was honor-bound to uncover lies and fakes, could not stand by and listen as Feiffer droned on and on about Potter's 'fitness.'

It wasn't fair to the poor, deluded girl, really.

And so, without really stopping to think about it, Lily decided that she would find out exactly how Potter had gotten what Feiffer called a 'Quidditch-toned body.' She would find out, and she would force him to stop spreading his lies to the silly, giggly, and fluttery female population.

XXX

Lily snuck into the locker room, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the smell. There was an old Quaffle laying on the floor, and a lackluster Snitch flying feebly in the corner. She wasn't overtly worried about being seen; most of the team had already gone on to dinner. According to a very reliable source (Remus), only Potter was still in the locker room.

She carefully avoided stepping on someone's sweaty jersey—feeling as if a few Cleaning Charms wouldn't go amiss—and headed towards the Captain's office, where she knew Potter was carefully deliberating on who would be the team's new Seeker. Remus had explained that even before he had become Captain, Potter would avoid others after tryouts, studiously trying to figure out who would be the best fit for the team.

"It's the best time to go confront him about his lies," Remus had said, grinning widely at her.

Even now, amidst desperately wishing she didn't have to breathe in the putrid air, Lily blushed at the thought of Remus's grin after she had told him what she planned to do. It was almost as if he knew something she didn't, and that annoyed her.

Of course, she'd take Remus's ribbing over Feiffer's flirting any day. But first, she had to get Potter to admit that he was lying…

"Evans? What're you doing here?" Lily cursed, realizing that Potter had seen her before she had the chance to surprise him. He was sitting behind a desk, one hand propping up his head, the other playing with a frayed-looking quill. "Did I miss my rounds? What time is it?" He looked flustered, almost embarrassed, and Lily had no idea why. Normally, because of her rather inquisitive nature, she would have pried into his business, and tried to figure out what was causing him to act like a Chihuahua.

But, honestly, she just wanted to hear a confession from him.

"No, you didn't miss your rounds. You still have a few hours…actually, I just wanted to ask you a question." Potter's eyebrows rose immediately, and he sat up straighter, his bottle of ink falling over in his twitchy state.

"Er, yeah, hold on—" He let out a curse, pulled out his wand, and vanished the stack of parchment as well as the ink that had spilled, before he looked at her expectantly. "So? What was your question?" Lily pulled on the sleeves of her robes, and she looked at the ground, suddenly feeling foolish.

Yet, she found herself asking anyway.

"There's no such thing as a 'Quidditch-toned body,'" she said, narrowing her eyes and looking at him. He seemed shocked by her statement.

"Er, no, I don't think so…but, that was a statement, not a question…" he trailed off, and she noticed that his glasses were slightly lopsided for the first time. It made him seem…rather endearing.

"So you admit it, then? That you've lied all these years? That you're fit because you work out, not because of _Quidditch_?" She said the name of the sport in distaste, and she saw that Potter seemed slightly offended. Of course, it lasted only a moment, because he let out a laugh.

"Are you all right, Evans? Had too many whiffs of the Cheering Draught we brewed in Potions today?"

"_No_," Lily said, glaring at him. "This is a serious question!"

"I dunno, all I heard was you calling me fit." He cocked his head to the side, studying her oddly. "D'you think I'm fit, Evans?"

"That was _not_ the point, Potter, and you know it. All I want is for you to stop lying to the likes of girls like Feiffer." Potter said nothing—he just stared at her—for nearly a whole minute before he stood and walked over to her.

"Girls like Feiffer?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Yes, silly, giggly, loquacious girls."

"Don't forget obnoxious," he said, chuckling when Lily hit him in the arm. "You know, Feiffer's actually really bright. If she stopped flirting all the time, I think she'd be a brill mate."

"'A brill mate?'" Lily repeated incredulously, not quite understanding what he meant.

"Well, yeah. Why?" He seemed honestly confused, and Lily found herself feeling a bit flustered.

"I'm sure that Feiffer wants to be more than just a mate. Hence the flirting." Potter laughed—actually threw this head back and let out a deep, throaty laugh—and then put his hands on her shoulders, giving her an amused look.

"If I didn't know you, Evans, I'd think you almost sounded _jealous_."

"Jealous? _Me_? Of Feiffer? Maybe _you've_ had too many whiffs of the Cheering Draught." She shrugged off his hands and looked at him crossly. "Why spread the lies about the Quidditch-toned body?"

"I'm not responsible for what other people say, Evans," Potter said, still looking incredibly amused. Lily, despite knowing that the smugness on his face should have made her royally brassed off, found herself smiling back at him.

"But you don't correct them, either."

"Do _you_ correct people when they call you the brightest student in our year?"

"_Yes_, I do," she exclaimed. "And that's my point!" Potter frowned.

"You do? Huh…well, that's stupid, Evans. You _are _the brightest in our year. Why would you correct anyone?"

"Because I—wait. Did you just…_compliment_ me?" Potter grinned.

"You sound so surprised, Evans. Like I've never said anything nice to you before."

"Well, you haven't." At her words, Potter looked stumped, and after a second, his cheeks turned red.

"Yes, well, I suppose I've been somewhat of a prat," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand nervously.

"'Somewhat?'"

"You're not getting me to say anything more than 'somewhat,'" he said, his grin returning. "Besides, you haven't asked your question yet."

"I did ask my question," Lily shot back, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Nah, you didn't. C'mon, Evans, you can ask."

"I don't know what you're insinuating, Potter, so you can stop with all the eyebrow waggling." Potter immediately ceased his eyebrow waggling, and gave her a pointed look.

"Just ask, Evans. I won't bite."

"That's highly doubtful," Lily muttered, loud enough for Potter to hear. She expected him to laugh, and she wasn't disappointed—he grinned widely and stepped closer to her, leaning forward and staring straight into her eyes. Without thinking about it, Lily reached up and straightened his glasses. If he was surprised by her action—like she was—he didn't show it.

"You want to know _how_ I got fit."

"I've never uttered those words, nor will I _ever_ utter them."

"Stop being so stubborn, Evans. You and I both know you're here to uncover fakes and lies." Her eyes widened, and she suddenly realized exactly why Remus and Mary had laughed so hard at her, why she had been so angry when she saw Feiffer flirting shamelessly with Potter. She _was_ jealous. And despite clearly knowing exactly why she was in the Gryffindor locker rooms, her arms crossed, and standing far too close to him than strictly necessary, Potter was playing along with her—seemingly intent on saving her from any embarrassment.

That knowledge made her flush, and she felt the sudden need to take a step back.

"Well, you know me. I'm all about uncovering fakes and lies," she said uncomfortably. Potter nodded sagely.

"I'll be honest with you, Evans. I got this way," he gestured widely to his body, "by carting around my huge head. You have no idea what kind of work out it is." Lily blushed even deeper, ready to mumble out an apology for what she said back in fifth year, when Potter rolled his eyes. "I'm only joking. Merlin, you take everything so seriously."

"I do n—"

"I go jogging every morning," he interrupted, shrugging when she rolled her eyes in disbelief. "I'm serious. I go jogging. It helps me clear my head. Besides, this castle has hundreds of flights of stairs. And I'm a troublemaker—I'm constantly going up and down stairs, trying to escape McGonagall. Did you know she has a great set of lungs on her? Merlin, that woman can give chase." He shook his head, obviously lamenting the fact that McGonagall was able to keep up with him.

"Jogging and stairs, huh?" Lily sighed, feeling a bit disappointed by the knowledge. She had expected Potter to tell her that he took some potion—some magical version of steroids or something—not something as mundane as jogging. "That's…well, anticlimactic." She turned around and was just about to leave, when she paused and glanced back at Potter. He looked rather confused—something she understood considering how she had abruptly arrived, and now was abruptly leaving—but he also had this wistful glint in his eyes. Like he wasn't ready to see her leave.

It took her a second to realize she felt the same way.

"You have rounds tonight, don't you?" she asked, looking carefully at a spot over his shoulder.

"Er, yeah."

"D'you mind if I tag along?" Potter ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head immediately.

"No, of course not. Two Heads are better than one, right?" She laughed, suddenly no longer caring about how many times she heard Feiffer mention Potter's 'Quidditch-toned body.'

The girl obviously had no idea what she was talking about.


End file.
